Between A Rock and a Hard Place
by MagicallyChallenged
Summary: Set after the finale, Zoe has to choose between Wade and George but it isnt as easy as she thought it would be
1. Chapter 1

_Set after the finale, Zoe has to choose between Wade and George and it's not as easy as she thought it would be._

**Authors Note: This is intended to be a one shot, but if I receive comments asking for continuation, I promise more and ultimately more dialogue which I realise this is lacking. Thanks. xxx**

He's staring at me and it's difficult for me to look back at him, and so I study the floor. I can't help but wondering how I hadn't noticed the antique looking, almost threadbare rug that lies beneath my bed, damn it's ugly. My fingers are weaving an invisible web of nervousness, and I know my lips are doing that thing where I mouth the words I want to say but without sound. Like sometimes, I just can't force them to pass the precipice of my lips. Even if I could, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say. How do I explain what just happened. I bite down on my lip, and raise a hand to trace the ghost left lingering there.

A cool breeze circles the air, dancing over my arms and leaving a trail of goosebumps that reflect the clear night sky I'm accustomed to sleeping under. This place has become my home, in the short time I've been here and even with the gossiping, and clear smear campaign of one particular local family.. I actually like it here. It's different from New York on a scale I can't even begin to comprehend, but I think that's why I like it so much. I don't want to mess this up any more than it already is, Lavon was right; I need to stop messing with him. This is it, I have to be honest.

I lift my gaze and he's moved, no longer lying down he's come to an upright position, has slipped into his jeans without me even noticing and he's making his way across the room, one arm reaching out for me and a breath catches in my throat. It's audible and comes out more of a gasp, and his eyes widen in confusion, I see it. He lets his arm fall back down, his fingers curling into a fist as his brow furrows and he begins to speak.

'Zoe, what's going on? Who was at the door?' his words fall effortlessly from his lips, inquisitive, demanding and as I remain silent I notice him becoming even more confused. He angles his head to the side, and widens his eyes; a silent repeat of his earlier words and my mouth opens slowly. Still… Nothing.

He steps towards me again, his bare feet silent against the wooden floor and again he is met with resistance. I grab the sides of the sheer robe I'm wearing and pull it around me tighter, my arms wrapping around myself in a hug I find I'm desperate for. Ironic, right? Until a few minutes ago, I had just that. Wades arms around me, warmth, and a peacefulness I could have happily slipped into the night with and then, then there was George; who does what he always does and sweeps in and out of my life on a wind that would rival Chicago on a winters day.

I hug myself harder and close my eyes, my breathing still trying to find an even place between fast and slow and all of a sudden I begin to fall. My knees buckle and my hands fall from their hold, palms flattening as they find the ground and I try to steady myself. My eyes still closed I shake my head when I feel his breath on the back of my neck, its warm and inviting and I almost let myself fall into him. He's kneeling in front of me and he's cursing out loud while trying to figure out this situation, and I just need a minute. I need to be able to find some kind of clarity and so I lower myself completely to the floor, pulling my knees into my chest I begin to rock slowly, back and forth. My head resting on my knees as I mutter the words that had become almost a mantra for me in my life so far. Inaudible and I intend to keep them that way, I rock until I regain some kind of hold on myself, the shaking in my arms and legs begins to still and my breathing has found reprieve. Glancing up I catch his eyes, those tired, worried eyes and I know he's seen pain in his life. I can see it in the right hand corner, just by the shard of green that's crept into his blue ocean, there's a teardrop he's never shed and I hope to god, what I I'm going to tell him isn't going to cause it to fall.

'George…' the name falls from my mouth with an ease I've only known in dreams, the soft syllable dancing across my tongue like the sweet kiss he left me with a moment ago. I can't see it but I feel the corners of my mouth turn upwards as his image comes into my mind, tall and built like a modern day Adonis and with a heart I'd want to be loved by forever, and that smile… that smile could induce weak knees even in the steadiest of tight rope walkers. I know I'm starting to get lost in thoughts of George because as I momentarily focus my gaze ahead of me, I see knees. Wade has stood upright as is now running his hand through his tousled post sex hair and he looks… no, I can't. I do like Wade but now there's George, an actual possibility of being with him, he came to me… and now I… I don't know, I'm so lost.

Wade doesn't say anything, I hold my knees tight, the blood draining the colour from my hands until I'm sure they match my already pallid face. I wish I had it in me to take control of this situation, to get to my feet and tell him exactly what happened. About New Orleans, about our night of near marital bless, even if it was pretend. About his kiss and about how George showed up moments ago, full of promise and chance and told me that there was going to be no wedding, and that him and me, we needed to talk. I wish that I could swallow my ability to lie, and tell him the truth, that opening that door and having Georges lips on mine felt like… belonging. Like finally coming home. But I couldn't because with guys like Wade, sometimes the lies are the only way to spare them pain and I really don't want to hurt him, more than I know I have. And so I swallow the truth, and it tastes like cinnamon, pears, and the soft hint of Georges aftershave, and I begin to speak.

'I don't think I can do this Wade, I'm sorry… I'm so, so, sorry.' I know this means nothing, not to Wade, not to anyone who has ever felt themselves in this situation but it's all I have, all I can give for now. He shakes his head at me in disbelief and his mouth adopts a snarl I know will stay around longer than the last but I deserve it. I should have never fallen into this trap; I should have spent the night cuddled up in bed listening to the storm and drowning in my own sadness, instead of tripping that switch and asking for trouble. Because that's what happens when sparks fly, trouble is imminent.

He leaves with the bang of the door and I'm left sitting here, I can feel tears burning at my eyes but I hold them in, I've always been good at that, disappointment and heartache were the foundations upon which I was raised. Instead, I shakily made my way towards my bed, studying it momentarily, the tousled sheets an indicator of the mess I'd made and I took a deep breath and considered my situation, my options.

It would take absolutely none of my resolve to turn and run, leave the house and make my way to his, mud streaking up my legs and rain pouring down on me, and none of it would matter once I told him everything. I could come clean, and explain to him my situation, with him… with George, and I know he would look at me displeased and give me another of his speeches about me falling for 'the golden boy' and he would go back to pretending like nothing happened. We'd fall back into this tango, this back and forth in a relationship filled with tension and pretence. But he doesn't know this hurts me, that ever since I've been here in Bluebell Alabama, alone and frightened, Wade Kinsella has been my rock, my Dixie, southern comfort on nights when I've felt nothing more than a spare piece in an already completed jigsaw puzzle.

I drop my hands to the soft white linen, fingers running along the folds that hold the shape of our earlier activity, and I feel my hand curl into a fist, grasping the sheets I begin to pull them from their place until its stripped bare, and the offending material is bunched up carelessly on the floor. Typical Zoe Hart, when life hands me real life situations, I make metaphors out of thin air. I scoop the tangled mass of indiscretion into my arms, and the scent is overwhelming, he's still lingering there, nestled safely between sheets and eyelids, and even as I walk towards the front door and open my home to the elements, throwing the sheets out onto my porch, I feel a light breeze sweep past me, and its whispering his name.

The house across the lake is coming to life, lights glare brightly and are accompanied by a back beat of a metal band I stopped listening to when I passed out of my Goth phase at seventeen. I bite at my lip and nod my head in acceptance, tonight I will not blow his generator, tonight I will not lead him on ask him over here again. Tonight I will give him the space, and time he so obviously needs, and deserves and so I retreat. I stagger back into the house, and straight to the bedroom, without even considering dressing the bed, I crawl onto the mattress, and curl up in ball. I close my eyes and fight back the burning sensation that is almost over powering me, inhaling I catch the feint smell of Cinnamon and summer nestled between the springs and fabric, and George reappears in my mind's eye. I can taste him on my lips again, and I allow myself to savour his kiss, my fingers running shakily over my soft smile. I don't know how this all happened. He was supposed to be married by now, that would have made this easier, much easier. I could have talked myself out of loving him if there was a constant reminder of his unavailability nestled snugly on his hand. I could have talked myself out of it all, it would have taken time but I could have done it, and then he shows up at my doorstep, and kisses me and I'm suddenly considering the possibility of magic, or miracles because that's the only explanation for his decision.

George Tucker, handsome, loving, strong, caring and so it seems, as crazy about me as I am about him.

And as I close my eyes, my lids heavy with regret and heartache, possibility and hope the tears rolls down my cheeks and I give way to sleep. I can deal with this tomorrow; after all it's a new day, a fresh start. But I can't help but wonder, if I'll ever find my way out from being between a rock and a hard place.

**Again, Thanks for reading xxx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note: So far those of you who have read and ran are high in your numbers. If my writing isnt worth reviewing it kind of makes me wonder why i'm still doing this and then i go and get two wonderful readers who leave me reviews that reminded me of why i choose to write. So thank you, a HUGE thankyou to Rainy79 and zoeandgeorgesupporter, for being amazing and for most of all, taking a minute to not only read my mindless drabble, but to review. You've made my day, and this is for you. Enjoy xx**

**Chapter 2**

The morning comes, as it always does on the flurry of a gentle breeze that carries the birds' song in through my window, kissing my ears and waking me from a slumber I could have happily stayed victim of. I keep my eyes shut, trapping my dream behind my eyelids, not wanting to admit consciousness, for fear of what the day will bring. Last night, was for all intents and purposes, the most draining night of my life, and I can feel it in the heavy weights that linger at my sides, and beneath my centre, my limbs that are still basking in the easiness that came with sleep.

Turning my face to the side, my eyelids flutter as I feel the warm sun creeping up the sheets, and across my body, the warmest of soft kisses that New York couldn't compete with. I sigh, parting my lips momentarily before raising my fingers to trace the ghosts that linger there, both pure, in their own way. Both a promise of something worth having, but neither feeling right.

I know that this is something I'm going to have to confront, admit to. My night with Wade, was amazing, and my hands slipped over his body with a need that I couldn't contain, but although in the moment I fell blindly into his comfort… a part of me knew all along it wasn't right. None of that is his fault. No, that is completely down to me and my fickle heart. I felt growing up that my last name was always such a burden of irony, because for a girl named Hart, I wasn't entirely sure if mine worked. Even laying there with Wade, wrapped in his tight embrace and smiling into each secret his lips told mine, I wasn't sure where exactly I felt, whatever it was I felt for him. Wade Kinsella had slipped through the toughest of defences I had set up long ago, and I had waved my white flag, because sometimes, it's hard standing alone when all you want is someone to hold you up.

Groaning I stretch, using every ounce of willpower I have left to swing my legs off the bed, my bare feet finding the cold wooden floor as I shuffle my way towards the bathroom. My hand lazily reaching for the faucets and spinning them into action. Stepping into the water and allowing myself to slid under the bubbles I take a moment to try focus my mind, the warm water washing away last night's impurities and leaving me renewed… if only life was that simple. I can't seem to steer my thoughts away from the two of them, and I know this is going to be harder than any of us imagined. I don't know how I'm supposed to tell George about what Wade and I did, and I don't know how to explain any of this to Wade. I've already hurt him enough. My apologies will not be enough this time, Lavon warned me, but as usual Zoe Hart MD walks in with blinders on and destroys everything within reach.

As I glance out of the window, the long weeping branches of the willow that hangs out back, swaying its leaves to a gentle symphony that's uniquely Bluebell, I take a minute to enjoy the day we have lucked into considering yesterday's events. Slowly lowering myself into the bubbles I watch the sun disappear on the still warm horizon until my vision becomes glassy and distorted.

I like the world beneath the water; everything is so… surreal, visually that is. The lavender curtains that hang perfectly straight from the rail, gather daring waves that reality would make me iron out, but here under the water it doesn't matter. Here, I can allow things to divert from the perfect I strive for in my life, because here, under the translucent waves that have mixed with my indiscretions and secrets, here I know I'm perfectly okay. I can hear the confirmation of my humanity as it beats against my chest, its sound reverberating in my ears, causing the lightest of ripples to wash over me momentarily before I surface. Taking in a deep breath, I come into a resting position, my eyes closed as the water droplets that cling to my olive skin dry with the heat that permeates the glass panes. My fingers have started to form indents that I allow my lies and omissions to escape into, I know within a few minutes everything will slip right back into place, or at least some thing's will, the rest is going to take time.

I opt out of breakfast this morning, I can't convince my legs to make the trip across the grass towards the main house, no matter how much I adore the feeling of the first morning light that lingers on and between each perfectly trimmed blade as it tickles my bare feet. I know what awaits me, breakfast will be served with a cold glass of I told you so, and a side of disapproving glare that Lavon, ever the hypocrite has down to a tee. I'm not entirely sure that Wade won't also be there, wearing his slack fit jeans and his 'I don't give a shit' attitude, while his eyes give him away. I know he's hurt, he doesn't have to say anything for me to know, I know what I've done, what I do. I know what I am. So instead of indulging in the mornings offerings of sunshine and pleasantries I begin the walk to the town square. Hoping for a little clarity along the way.

The walk to the practise is a slow march, each step a small victory against my better judgment who is screaming at me, halo polished to a perfect shine, that I need to make things right. It's just something I can't think about right now, at least not if I want to get through the rest of the day. My heels tap out a rhythm on the pavement as I cross the street, my gaze following the blonde mass of hair as Cal runs past me at hi speed, waving his hooked hand in a greeting, a smile on his face, illuminating those beautiful eyes he covers with eye patches. Pausing a moment, I feel my breath hitch in my throat, my eyes widen and my legs tremble, a reminder of the night before. He's standing there, coffee cup in one hand, and a smile that warms me to my very core. Something in me breaks and I smile softly, he returns it, one hand outstretched as he offers me the latte he's been holding for a little while, the wisps of steam rising from it are slow and languid as they rise into the air. Stepping closer I reach out for the cup and inhale deeply, the hint of cinnamon filling my insides with a Christmas that never leaves. I bring the cup to my lips, sipping slowly before biting down on my lip, the liquid burning as I curse a little beneath my breath.

'I'm sorry…' he begins, genuine concern spread across his face and as I allow my gaze to wander from his sorrowful eyes to his downturned lips, I feel the words he breathes.

'No… I'm sorry' I start, rocking back and forth on my expensive shoes I probably wouldn't be able to replace out here, and so I stop, my nervous energy making its way up my body and into my voice as I continue '… about last night, I should have… the truth is' he's looking at me now, with a knowing smile that still retaining a slight melancholy that's confusing me, and as he reaches out and cups my cheek, his thumb tracing the newly burnt skin on my lips, I feel everything fall away from me again.

'I know Zoe…' again I stare at him, wide eyed and confused, a small laugh skips over the threshold of his lips and it settles me '… I know he was there last night and honestly, I get it, I do… completely. You deserve a shot at something real, something as wonderful as you'

I shake my head, he clearly doesn't know me as well as I thought he did, and his fingers slip down to my chin, lifting my eyes to meet his own as he nods at me in both acceptance and a goodbye that's too painful to vocalise. Nodding back, I feel his fingers leave my face, his arm falling to his side and slips into his pocket as he begins to back away, his head held high as it so rightly should be. This town, these people, they're full of surprises and that's why I wanted to stay, sometimes the surprises turn out to be more amazing than you could ever imagine. Clutching the cup between my hands, I hold onto the warmth he left me with, a cool breeze sweeping past, the wind changing directions signalling a shift in time. I watching him as he continues to walk away, my voice finally finding me again as I shout his name, just loud enough for him to hear. He stops and turns to face me, and I raise my cup in front of me.

'Hey Wade… thanks for the coffee'.


End file.
